Something in the Water(103)

I back up all the files I want to keep from my laptop onto a hard drive. Eddie’s sending someone to wipe my computers and reinstall after lunch.

I cancel the impending payment from the Swiss account into my account. I’ll stay away from it until everything is done.

An hour and a half after the first call of the day, I call Mark again.

“Mark. Where are you? Call me, please. I’ve checked your flights and there weren’t any delays. Did you miss your flight, honey? Getting really worried, can you call me? I’m going to call the airline and check now.” I hang up. I call BA. They, of course, confirm he made the flight.

So where is Mark?

I call Mark’s parents. I have to hang up the first time around, when his mum answers, and run to the toilet to vomit bile into the bowl. The second time around I manage to hold it together.

“Hi, Susan. Yes, yes, it is. Hi, hi. Um, strange question, Susan, but have you heard from Mark?”

I explain the New York business trip and how he was definitely on the flight home but that he hasn’t turned up today. She sounds slightly concerned but assures me he’ll turn up. He’s probably lost his phone or he’s got a work thing on. That gives me an idea.

I call Hector. He’s been spending so much time with Mark that it seems appropriate to check in with him next.

Hector hasn’t heard from him either.

“So the last time you saw him was the weekend?” I ask.

Silence from the other end. And then Hector says something I wasn’t expecting at all.

“Erin, I haven’t seen Mark since your wedding.” He sounds bewildered. And for the first time since what happened in Norfolk, I feel genuinely surprised.

Where the fuck was Mark going all those days he said he was meeting Hector? Checking in with Patrick? Setting up his new life in New York?

“He hasn’t called you about work?” I ask.

“Um, no, no. Has he found something new?” he asks, cheered by the apparent change of subject. Perhaps he suspects Mark has been cheating on me and using him as an excuse. Who knows? But it’s clear Mark wasn’t setting up a business with him. Good. I can use that. I move on.

One last call.

“Mark. I don’t know if you’re listening to these but no one knows where you are. I just spoke to Hector and he says he hasn’t seen you since the wedding. He doesn’t know anything about a new business. What the fuck is going on? I need you to call me, please. I am freaking out here. Call me.” I hang up. The trail has been laid. My husband has run off.



* * *



—

Tomorrow morning I will call the police.





After the call I sit in silence, the empty house a shell around me. The police will be here in about an hour, they said. There is nothing for me to do but wait.

I miss him. It’s funny how the brain works, isn’t it? I miss him so much I ache.

It hurts and I don’t really understand it. I don’t understand what happened. I suppose you can never really know a person, can you?

When did it change? Did it change the day he lost his job? Or was it always like this?

It’s impossible to know if we were a good thing that we broke somehow or a bad thing that eventually became exposed. But either way, if I could just go back now to the way we were, I would. I would, without a moment’s hesitation. If I could just lie in his arms one last time, I could live with an illusion the rest of my life. If I could, I would.

I don’t know why I reach for the phone. It’s not part of the plan. I just want to speak to him. One last time. And it can’t possibly hurt. I dial Mark’s mobile number and for an instant when it connects, my breath catches in my throat and I think he’s answered, that he’s alive after all, and everything that happened before was just some kind of trick. He’ll explain everything and he’ll be on his way home to me and I’ll get to hold him in my arms again. But of course it’s not him, he’s not alive, it wasn’t a trick, and he’s not coming home to me—it’s just his voicemail message. His deep assured voice, my favorite sound in all the world. And when the tone sounds at the end of it I can hardly speak.

“Mark?” My voice comes out cracked and thick. “I miss you so much. I wish you would just come home. Please come home, Mark. Please, please, please. I don’t know why this happened, why you went away from me. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I wasn’t good to you, if I didn’t do the right things…say the right things. I’m sorry. But I love you more than you will ever, ever know. And I always will.” I put down the phone and cry in my empty house.

I made a lot of bargains with a God I don’t believe in last night in bed. I would give back all of the money for how it was before. Everything back the way it was.

Before the police arrive I pore through our photo albums. We put them together last Christmas after the engagement. For our future kids: Mum and Dad when they were young.

So many memories. His face in the firelight, blurred Christmas lights behind him. The smell of smoke. Mulled wine. Pine. My fingers running across his thick sweater. His hair on my cheek. The scent of him, close. His weight. His kisses. His love.

Wasn’t it real? Any of it? It felt real. It felt so real.

They were the best days of my life. Each day with him.

In my heart I believe it was real. He was scared of failing. He was flawed. I know. I’m flawed too. I wish I could have saved him. I wish I could have saved us. He lost his job. That’s all that happened, really. But I know what that means to some men. People died after the financial crash. Some jumped and some took pills or alcohol. Mark survived. He survived eight years longer than some of his friends.